Here, We End Together
by sablize
Summary: "I found someone," Elena says. "Someone who can help Rose."  AU.  Damon/Rose.  NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Here, We End Together

**Author: **sablize

**Character/Pairing: **Damon/Rose, and the other residents of Mystic Falls.

**Summary:** "I found someone," Elena says. "Someone who can help Rose." AU. Damon/Rose.

**Spoilers:** Season 2, mostly.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own a thing.

**Author's Notes: **Back to my Damon/Rose roots! Woohoo! The thing is, a couple of days ago, I was thinking of how last year at this time, the show was just coming back from its winter hiatus. And, of course, Rose was still alive (well, dying, but alive). And then I went online to see the exact date when The Descent aired, and it's today. So, I wrote this. Enjoy!

(I had to split it into two parts; sorry about that, but real life got in the way. Second part should be up eventually.)

* * *

><p>The stake feels warm, real, in his hands.<p>

Rose, slumped against him, is cold but solid. Her breathing is ragged and soft, her eyes closed. He holds one of her hands in his but she's too exhausted to hold his back, so he just breathes and strokes her fingers and thinks, maybe, he should've held her hand more often. When she was alive. More alive.

He has barely picked up the stake when the front door opens downstairs.

His heart skips a beat.

"Damon!"

It's Elena. Her voice is urgent, and she calls for him again, breathlessly. "Damon!"

Rose doesn't stir as Damon slides out from under her.

He meets Elena in the hallway. "I thought I told you to _leave_, Elena," he growls.

She's unfazed. "I found someone," she says. "Someone who can help Rose."

And suddenly, before he can ask, Elijah is at the top of the stairs. His face is expressionless, his age-old eyes fixated firmly on Damon. "I'm quite old, you know," he says. "My blood is rather strong."

"Your blood can cure a werewolf bite?" Damon asks, bewildered but slightly skeptical.

"We'll see."

Damon almost thinks to grab Elijah's arm before Rose can see him, because he knows she will be upset, but the moment is gone as Elijah quickly pushes past him and into the room. Damon follows closely and, behind him, comes Elena.

Elijah is standing beside Damon's bed, gazing down at the dying Rose. Damon stops in the doorway, unsure of what to do. He's not good at trusting people solely on their word, but it _is_ Elena, after all, who convinced Elijah to do all this.

"Rosemarie," the Original says, softly.

A single green eye cracks open, then both, as she blinks. Damon steps closer, watching her face. He watches it change, violently and abruptly, as Rose finally recognizes the face above her.

In less than a second, she has tumbled over the edge of the bed and propelled herself to the furthest corner of the room, using some hidden burst of energy to get as far away from Elijah as she possibly can.

"Rose—" Damon steps forward, towards her, and Elijah does the same.

"Elijah," is all she says, pushing the name through her raw throat and still managing to make it sound full of disgust. Her eyes are wide and alert, but her energy is already failing her; she clutches at the wall, trying to remain upright. Damon steps towards her again but Elena catches his elbow, holding him back.

Rose and Elijah have eyes only for each other. "I am not here to kill you, Rosemarie," he says coolly. "Only to help."

"I don't want your help," she snarls. She slips down the wall an inch, then another, but her glare remains fierce.

"Not even to save your own life?"

She laughs humorlessly. "I've been running for five hundred years of it, thanks to you. My family is long gone, my best friend is dead." She breathes sharply. "I don't have much of a life worth saving."

Elijah steps closer to her, his voice even, emotionless, as though he were discussing the weather. "My blood—"

"I don't want your blood," Rose protests, interrupting him. Her eyes are shining with tears. "I don't want your _anything_."

"Rose," Damon says at last, shaking off Elena's hand. "Please. Please, just take it."

She doesn't even spare him a glance, but he knows she heard. "_No_. I will not have a debt to you, Elijah."

"I think that I am the one who owes you, Rosemarie." Elijah is only a few feet away from her now, and his voice betrays just a hint of emotion, of guilt and pity and sorrow. "I am sorry. Truly."

She eyes him warily, her glare fading, trying to judge his sincerity. She breathes again, long and slow; inhale, exhale. "No."

"Rose," Damon says again, the only thing he can think of to say. She turns to him at last; their eyes meet, and he finally sees just how frightened she is.

Then, in a split second, Elijah has bitten into his wrist and pinned her against the wall, forcing her to drink. She struggles against his arm but it's no use; he's too strong, too old, for her to overpower.

It's over quickly; Elijah lets her go and she falls to the ground, stunned.

"It won't heal her permanently," Elijah says nonchalantly, as if nothing just happened. He wipes his wrist with a handkerchief he has pulled from his pocket. "My blood isn't quite that strong."

Damon wants to go to Rose, but again Elena holds him back. "So, what then?" he asks. "What does that mean?"

"It means you will have to find a better cure, eventually," Elijah says, returning the handkerchief to his pocket. "Klaus's blood should fix it up quite nicely."

Elena, hovering close to Damon's elbow, gulps, then finds the courage to speak. "And until then?"

Elijah shrugs. "She'll be weaker on the full moon, and likely have a strong reaction to wolfsbane. She will need more blood than usual. Visibly, the bite will still be there. You see, my blood can only halt the process, not stop it completely."

Damon clears his throat, tearing his gaze away from the distraught Rose who is still huddled on the floor. "How long?"

"A year. Maybe two." Elijah moves towards the door without a glance in Rose's direction.

"And how exactly do you know all this?" Damon asks, stopping him in the doorway. Elena, eyes wide, looks between the two men; the hostility between them is almost tangible.

"Experiments." And Elijah shrugs again, as if he had not just uttered something so horrific. "Now, then. Good day."

And with a burst of speed, he is gone without another word.

Now, Damon and Elena turn to Rose. Her eyes are still stunned, hurt, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as if trying to rid the taste of blood from her lips.

Damon starts to rush over to her but her voice halts him. "Go away." It's quiet, emotionless. Barely a whisper.

"What?"

"Go away." Louder, her voice wavering. She leans against the wall, eyes still open, staring sullenly at the floor. A single tear slips out, cascading down her cheek. She breathes a single, shaky breath. Inhale, exhale.

"Damon." Elena's voice startles him; he'd almost forgotten she was there. She tugs at his elbow again. "Damon, come on. Let's go."

—

Elena doesn't stay long, just long enough for Damon to thank her and her to nod in response. She doesn't meet his eyes as she hugs him, quickly, and leaves.

Damon, not wanting to disturb Rose and whatever turmoil she was currently going through, has a quick glass of whiskey or three, the alcohol blazing down his throat in a strangely satisfying way. He tries to think of something other than Rose but she refuses to stay out of his mind; he's just glad, of all things, that she is still alive.

And to think, he nearly killed her.

Nearly an hour after Elijah's visit and he just needs to see her. He just needs to see that she's still here, still alive. And he knows that she's upset and he's the only one left to comfort her, so he goes.

"Rosebud?" he asks quietly, peeking around his bedroom door.

She is lying on his bed now, spread-eagled across his tangled sheets, unmoving. His heart drops to his toes as he thinks, for a second, that she's dead; then, she opens her eyes.

"Hi." She's not looking at him.

He steps into the room. "Are you mad at me?" he asks, like an impertinent teenager.

"No," she replies, sighing. She shifts slightly, rubbing at her eyes. "No, I'm not."

"I'm sorry," he says anyways. He sits on the edge of the bed beside her and takes her hand. She smiles a bit at that.

"I don't mean to be so dramatic. It's just… Elijah—" She pauses, biting her lip. "He took my life from me. In, you know, a figurative way."

He nods and hums a bit in agreement, playing with her fingers. She, in turn, sits up and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you," she murmurs.

He mirrors her movements. "You're welcome, Rosebud." She smiles at the nickname, and reaches up to kiss him gently.

This is different, a whole new version of them. Less playful, less sexual; more gentle, intimate. And for the first time in a long time, Damon manages to forget about Elena for more than a minute. It's new and refreshing and while part of him is terrified, the other part of him wants to explore it, see where it goes.

_Doesn't matter_, he thinks, as he lies in bed that night with Rose's arms wrapped around him. _She's still dying_.

So he just holds her hand, relishing the warmth, and is half an inch away from wishing Klaus would finally show up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own it.

**Spoilers**: Season 2 finale.

**A/N:** Oh god, let me just take a second to apologize. I'M SO SORRY that I let this fic go on for so long without updating. Please feel free to yell/flame/lambaste me because clearly I am terrible at updating things and I'm sorry for that. Real life can be in a pain in the ass.

When I started getting interested in this fic again, I actually wrote too much for it to be called a twoshot anymore, so I cut the second part in half to make three. But never fear—the last part is very close to being done and I plan on having it up by Thursday the 19th… a.k.a. the day Rose comes back to the show! Seems like a good way to finish the cycle.

And now, without further rambling, enjoy.

**Edit:** A few people were confused when I said Rose was coming back and I apologize, I should've been more clear. Yes, she is coming back for 3x19, but only as a ghost they need to talk to. So, not entirely 'back' yet, but at least we get to see her(:

* * *

><p>The days and weeks pass just as they ever did, except now they've got a five hundred year old vampire who is (just barely) hanging on by their side.<p>

Damon feeds her lots of blood and gets Bonnie to make her a daylight ring and holds her at night and learns the shape of her hands. Eventually the bite becomes just another daily annoyance—sore most days, itchy others, giving her chills and aches and heat flashes—but, at the end of the day, ensconced in Damon's arms, in Damon's room, in Damon's bed, everything manages to be okay.

And so, life continues.

—

Rose is the first to notice.

Dawn is just breaking when she drags him away from where Stefan and Elena are currently reuniting and where Jeremy and Alaric sit mourning. Without prompt, she demands, "Show me your arm."

His eyebrows rise in confusion, but he already thinks he knows what she's getting at. Still, he plays dumb, raising his (uninjured) arm without a word.

She rolls her eyes at him and grabs the other, yanking back his sleeve the whole way to the elbow, revealing his werewolf bite in all its festering glory. She winces, and asks quietly, "Who did it?"

"Tyler," he replies, carefully extracting his wrist from her grip. He pulls his sleeve back down. "How did you even know it was there?"

"I saw you rubbing it earlier. And you've been acting a bit weird lately, so I thought—" She rocks back on her heels, arms crossed, biting her lower lip. She doesn't finish the sentence. "When were you planning on telling someone, exactly?"

"Whenever I started mass-murdering people, maybe," he replies, smirking, all sarcasm and wit and barely-concealed fear. Rose sighs and tries to glare at him, but the sentiment doesn't quite reach her eyes. She's scared for him, he realizes.

He's scared for him, too.

"Hey, Damon," Stefan says suddenly, popping his head into the room. He looks just as tired and drawn as the rest of them. "I'm taking Elena home."

There's a slight pause. "Right. Okay." Damon nods absentmindedly, and his brother leaves. The atmosphere is broken, and Rose, too, turns to leave.

"Wait," he says, catching her arm. She looks back at him, and her eyes are so startlingly green that it makes his breath catch in his throat. "Don't tell anyone, not yet." She opens her mouth to protest, but he continues. "There's no way to save me, Rose, and you know it. But I want to tell them on my own time."

She nods. "Okay." It's quiet, slightly hoarse. In that second, she looks exhausted beyond belief. But as she slips out of his grasp, she catches his hand and gives it a small squeeze. She smiles, and then she is gone. And he is alone.

—

Rose sees.

She watches as Damon pulls back his sleeve and bares the bite to Stefan. She sees the worry, the shock, the sorrow as they pass, one by one, across Stefan's face. She sees Damon shake his head and stalk away; not angrily, but with a certain resolve to his step. A sad resolve.

As she steps up behind him, Stefan says, "I don't know what to do, Rose."

She shrugs and draws level with him, watching as Damon disappears among the graves. "Elijah's gone. Klaus is gone. The other Originals are long dead." She sighs. "I don't really know either."

"I can't just leave him out there," Stefan says, fidgeting. "The next thing we know, he'll have slaughtered the whole town."

Rose looks across at him. "Go be with Elena," she says. "I'll take care of Damon."

He nods, not willing to argue. Then, rifling in his pocket, he draws out a vervain dart and presses it into her hands. "I have a habit of keeping them on hand, now," he says, by way of explanation. "Take it. I can't let you go out there unarmed."

"You're forgetting that I'm four hundred years older than he is," she says, but bends down to tuck the dart into her boot just the same.

"Thank you," Stefan says as she straightens up.

Rose just nods and sets off after his brother.

—

She finds him slumped against a tree, staring out at the sea of graves.

"Damon?" she asks quietly. He doesn't even turn around, just inclines his head slightly to the side to acknowledge that she's there. There is a length of silence. Then:

"Did Stefan send you out here after me?"

She doesn't answer directly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He turns then, mouth open to answer, but his legs give out beneath him and he stumbles. Rose leaps forward to catch him, but their combined momentum forces them to sit at the base of the tree, sunlight pouring across their faces. Damon's head lolls onto her shoulder, then falls to her lap. "I'm okay," he insists. "I _am_."

He's slightly delirious already, Rose notes, as she smoothes his disheveled hair away from his forehead. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing.

"I'm gonna die, aren't I?" Damon asks eventually.

"No," Rose says, far too quickly. "No. Stefan isn't going to let you die, Damon, and neither am I."

Damon sighs and tries to sit up, but his head is too dizzy. He lies back down and his eyes slide shut. "I should have known I'd get bitten eventually. You should've just let Jules kill me when she had the chance."

Rose sneaks her free hand into her boot and retrieves the vervain. "Never," she says, quietly, tenderly. Her breath ruffles his hair as she reaches down and gently pushes the dart into the skin of his wrist. He barely even notices, and his body grows limp within seconds.

Rose picks him up and carries him the whole way home.

—

They start off with putting him in the basement, locked behind the heavy cell door. But once Stefan leaves the next morning, headed to Mystic Falls' next useless celebration, Rose can't bear it anymore; she lets him out.

He's borderline delirious by now and far too weak to get very far even if he _did_ get away. So Rose carries him to his bedroom—a familiar place, something she would've appreciated when she was going through the same thing—and they lay there together, her leaning against his headboard and him sprawled across her lap.

Sometimes he sleeps. When he sleeps, he dreams. She can never tell if they're good or bad, but watches with faint amusement as he mutters to himself. Sometimes she hears _Katherine_ or _Elena_. Sometimes _Stefan_ crops up as well. Once there is a _Rose_, but she just shushes him then and tells him, "I'm here."

A few times, he wakes up abruptly and, confused, still living in his dreams, he dashes off the bed and across the room, eyes wide and scared. Rose has to take his hand and coax him back, reminding him where he is and who she is and what she's doing there. And then he remembers fully, and a look of anguished guilt crosses his face; but Rose just soothes him and kisses his forehead and assures him that everything will turn out okay, in the end.

When he's not asleep or delirious, he's screaming in pain and anguish, clutching on to Rose like she is his lifeline, burying his face in her side as he shakes. These are the worst times, because she knows that she can't do a damned thing and it kills her inside. All she can do is wipe his tears away and rub soothing circles across his heated flesh as he writhes in her arms, battling the pain.

But sometimes, when he's not asleep and not delirious and not in pain, he is almost conscious. These are the best times, because they talk. Damon, unwilling to touch his own past (he's reliving most of it in his dreams, she figures) asks her questions about hers: where she grew up, how she met Trevor, what adventures they'd had. She tells him about St. Austell and the brother she'd loved; tells him about the night she found Trevor, freezing cold and dying in the woods, and couldn't bear to leave him; tells him about the night they had compelled their way into a ball at Versailles, just after the wedding of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, and how Rose had danced with the King himself.

"The candles, Damon," she remarks wistfully, "thousands upon thousands of them. The ballroom seemed to come alive with them. And the women's dresses, the way their diamonds sparkled in the light. It was breathtaking. Even after all these years, I can never quite forget it."

Damon sighs weakly into her shoulder and grabs her hand. His fingers are like ice. "Sounds beautiful, Rose."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own it.

**Spoilers**: Season 2 finale.

**A/N:** Here's part three, as promised. *high-fives self for getting it done on time* Thanks for sticking with me! Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Night falls, and suddenly Stefan and Elena are there.<p>

"I had to tell her," Stefan says, the guilt clear on his face. Elena is bent down by the bed, anxiously stroking the hair back from Damon's face, holding his hand. Rose and Stefan stand in the hallway, just in sight of the door.

"I don't blame you," Rose says quietly. "She would've wanted to know. Deep down inside, Damon probably would've wanted her to know, too."

There is a moment of tense silence as they watch the pair through the open door. "I have to save him, Rose."

She glances at him curiously, skeptically. "How, Stefan?"

"Klaus. It's the only way," he says, not meeting her eyes. "I'll find him. I can't imagine he would've gotten very far last night. Katherine will know where he is. Or Bonnie can do a spell. Whatever it takes." He turns to her, now. There is desperation in his eyes. "Just—if I do find him, if I—"

Rose nods. She already knows what he's trying to say, even if he can't say it. "I'll take care of him. Even if you do come back."

Stefan nods. Indecision passes over his face before he shoves it down, away, and he turns to leave, leaving Elena still occupied with Damon. Rose barely catches his "Thank you," quiet as it is, coming from a throat that is choked, tight, tearful. But it's there.

"Stefan?" Elena rushes out of the room just as the front door shuts. "Rose—" Her voice is scared, shaking just slightly. "Rose, where is he going?"

She's saved from answering by Damon's building scream of pain from within the room, and she rushes in without uttering a word. In less than a second, she is crouched beside him on the bed. His hand waves wildly, grabbing for hers; she takes it with her own and holds it to her chest.

He breathes, trying to focus beyond the pain. "El-Elena… Elena—no, not Elena—"

"It's Rose," she has to remind him. "Rose."

"Rose—" Realization dawns on his face. "Rose… I need—I need Elena, please, Elena—"

She sees the apology behind his eyes but she doesn't need it; she understands. This is Elena. This is Damon and he needs his love, his Elena. And she can't begrudge him that.

Elena, standing just beyond the reach of the door, looks on the verge of tears, eyes wide. Rose releases Damon's hand and goes to her. "He needs you, Elena."

"But—"

"_You_, Elena," Rose insists. "He needs _you_ right now." The _not me_ at the end hangs between them, but she doesn't say it. Can't say it.

—

Rose is dozing on the couch when the front door opens.

When she stands and sees Katherine, small flask clutched in her hands, it's like someone has set off a bottle rocket in her stomach, a mixture of hope, joy, and a bit of sadness ricocheting around her bones. Hope and joy for Damon; sadness for Stefan (but then she never expected him to come back, anyways).

But she has to ask.

Katherine shakes her head, a little solemnly. The display of such seriousness from Katherine throws Rose off guard, and she can only imagine whatever horror Stefan has gone through—and will go through—to get this cure to his brother.

There is a moment of silence between the two vampires as both begin to feel their mutual hatred for the other reawakening, but before it can fully bloom Rose clears her throat and says, a bit hoarsely, "Come on. Let's get this over with."

—

As luck would have it, they arrive in Damon's room just as his and Elena's lips are connecting.

Elena jumps back, eyes wide, as if she's been shocked by a live wire. "K-Katherine—Rose—" she stutters, guilt scrawled all across her features.

Katherine shoots a glance back at Rose—a glance with just enough I-told-you-so in it to piss her off, even as she fights to keep a neutral expression—and then politely, sarcastically says, "Sorry, Elena. Didn't know we were interrupting something. Should we come back later?"

Elena flushes an embarrassing shade of red. "What do you want, Katherine?"

Katherine swaggers across the room to the bed, the flask dangling loosely from her fingers. "Well, a little birdie named Klaus told me to give this to you." She holds out the flask for Elena to see, and Damon stirs a little on the bed, hoisting himself up to get a better look. "You're welcome."

"Where's Stefan?" is all Elena can ask, her eyes growing even wider as she regards the flask of blood.

Katherine smirks. "Are you sure you care?"

"Katherine—" Rose suddenly says, irritated. She stalks up to her and swipes the flask from her hand, giving it to Elena without quite meeting her eyes. "Enough of your games. You brought the cure, now leave."

Katherine just shrugs and, without another word, she vampire-speeds out of the room, leaving a very awkward Elena, a still-disoriented Damon, and a tense, slightly pissed Rose behind.

After a long silence, Elena unstoppers the flask and stares into the depths of the red liquid, as if trying to determine its validity. She shoots a frightened look at Rose, who simply nods affirmation. Then, with a slight hesitation, she bends down to tip the contents into Damon's mouth.

"No," he says weakly, instantly, catching Elena's wrist. "Rose first."

Elena shoots another shocked look at Rose, who shoots her own look of disbelief at Damon. But the truth is that she knows _exactly_ what he's getting at, and there's no use hiding it. Instead of questioning his sanity, she simply says, "No. No, Damon."

"_Yes_, Rose. I'm not going to let you die when the cure is right here."

"I have years left, Damon; you have days, maybe even hours. We can—"

"No, Rose!" he exclaims, trying to sit up. "The cure is here _now_ and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you die like this." He fixes her with a gaze that makes everything else disappear—there's no Elena, no Katherine, no Stefan—just them, here, now. "Take it, Rose."

She jumps slightly as Elena presses the flask into her hands, wordlessly, eyes solemn. Rose clears her throat. "No," she says, but before Damon can protest, she continues. "Damon first. I'll take what's left."

Damon looks like he wants to argue but she fixes him with a gaze so steely that he swallows his dosage without complaint. Then, with expectant looks, Damon and Elena watch as Rose takes the flask and, with only a second of hesitation, swallows what's left.

And then, in the second it takes for the blood to travel down her throat, burning, and for her to lower the flask—it's over. A month of pain and distress and fear, silenced in a second.

Rose has never felt more relieved in her life.

—

Eventually—rather quickly, in fact—Elena leaves, murmuring something about Stefan. Rose tries to catch her eye, offer her some sympathy, but Elena won't look at her and she leaves quietly, guiltily.

—

After Elena leaves, it is only Rose and Damon. Newfound awkwardness settles between them almost instantly; Elena's kiss and Damon's intense insistence that Rose would not die for him are like a chasm, and both are too afraid to dip their toes over the edge.

Finally, Damon breaks the silence. "So, what the hell do we do now?"

She sighs and sits down at the foot of his bed. "I don't know, Damon. I don't know."

He answers her sigh with one of his own and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. He looks drained, exhausted. "Sleep," he says simply. The humor in his voice sounds false, and Rose knows he must be worrying about his brother; it's written all over his face.

Rose, tired enough herself, just nods and stands. Damon reaches out and grabs her hand before she can get too far, and she can't help but look back at him, green eyes meeting ice-cold blue, both slightly pained. "What?"

"Aren't you gonna stay?" His voice is quiet, hoarse. Sad.

She bites her lip. "What about Elena?"

"What… _about_ Elena?" His eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Well, you did kiss her."

"Rose," he sighs in exasperation. "Rose, _she_ kissed _me_. There's a difference." He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, which says more than words ever could. "Come on. Stay."

There is a moment of silent hesitation before a small, soft smile breaks out on her face. "Okay," she says, squeezing his fingers in return. "Okay."

He moves over as she climbs under his soft, familiar sheets and he pulls her into his arms, her back pressed close against his chest, an arm looped around her waist. He presses his face into her shoulder and sighs deeply, kissing the skin there.

"Thank you for everything," he whispers.

"Of course." She covers the hand on her side with her own and intertwines their fingers. "And you."

They relax into silence. There are so many things they will have to worry about tomorrow, so many problems they have yet to solve. Their fight isn't over yet. In fact, it's really just beginning.

But at least they're here. Together. Alive.

And in the end, that's all either of them could ever have hoped for.


End file.
